96

IX COURAGE, OR PHILOSOPHY? 108

X THE WAR'S VICTIMS 121

XI PATSY IS DEFIANT 135

XII THE OTHER SIDE 146

XIII TARDY JUSTICE 160

XIV FOUND AT LAST 182

XV DR. GYS SURPRISES HIMSELF 189

XVI CLARETTE 197

XVII PERPLEXING PROBLEMS 204

XVIII A QUESTION OF LOYALTY 217

XIX THE CAPTURE 225

XX THE DUNES 244

CHAPTER I

THE ARRIVAL OF THE BOY

"What's the news, Uncle?" asked Miss Patricia Doyle, as she entered the
cosy breakfast room of a suite of apartments in Willing Square. Even as
she spoke she pecked a little kiss on the forehead of the chubby man
addressed as "Uncle"--none other, if you please, than the famous and
eccentric multi-millionaire known in Wall Street as John Merrick--and
sat down to pour the coffee.

There was energy in her method of doing this simple duty, an indication
of suppressed vitality that conveyed the idea that here was a girl
accustomed to action. And she fitted well into the homely scene: short
and somewhat "squatty" of form, red-haired, freckle-faced and
pug-nosed. Wholesome rather than beautiful was Patsy Doyle, but if you
caught a glimpse of her dancing blue eyes you straightway forgot her
lesser charms.

Quite different was the girl who entered the room a few minutes later.
Hers was a dark olive complexion, face of exquisite contour, great brown
eyes with a wealth of hair to match them and the flush of a rose in her
rounded cheeks. The poise of her girlish figure was gracious and
dignified as the bearing of a queen.

"Morning, Cousin Beth," said Patsy cheerily.

"Good morning, my dear," and then, with a trace of anxiety in her tone:
"What is the news, Uncle John?"

The little man had ignored Patsy's first question, but now he answered
absently, his eyes still fixed upon the newspaper:

"Why, they're going to build another huge skyscraper on Broadway, at
Eleventh, and I see the political pot is beginning to bubble all through
the Bronx, although--"

"Stuff and nonsense, Uncle!" exclaimed Patsy. "Beth asked for news, not
for gossip."

"The news of the war, Uncle John," added Beth, buttering her toast.

"Oh; the war, of course," he said, turning over the page of the morning
paper. "It ought to be the Allies' day, for the Germans won yesterday.